The man who shot and killed my first husband lived in an old plantation house. The place had a name - like the plantations all did, but I forget what it was.
Place was filled with all kinds of antiques - old books and tables and chares and beds and dressers. Some of the old dresser drawers were full of old silver coins, and some gold - and they had very deep drawers. The walls had civil war area photos hanging, and the photo albums were full of pictures from that area. And the house - it was full of ghosts.
I was told about a young slave boy who had pilfered some object and had his hand hacked off as a punishment. It was claimed the boy could be seen hiding under certain tables, and that his hand was sometimes seen hovering over items left on the tables.
There were Many accounts of odd happenings and sounds and so on that took place - but one story stood out in my mind.
One of the boys used to harass the ole gran ma. Tease her, and make fun of her, and just do all he could to vex her.
One night, the creek was up, as it often was after much rain. To get to the house, a person had to park the car or truck on the bank, and use a rope bridge to cross over, an walk on up to the house.
This vexing boy got home late that night, and finding the creek up, he did as he must, if he wanted to cross.
Once he got across the creek and started up the wooded bank, his gran ma came out from behind the trees, and started whaling away on him with a fallen branch, cursing him for the little shit he had for so long been.
Frightened and amazed (as the gran ma had for years been confined to a wheel chair) he ran into the house begging her to stop hitting him. . .
Once inside, and seeing the relatives gathered there, he asked " What on earth is wrong with Gran Ma? How'd she get out of her chair?" or something along those lines.
It was then that they told him, she'd been dead for hours. Her body was laid out in the parlor.
This was told to me by an eye witness - the man who later shot my husband. They had been best friends since child hood - first grade if I remember rightly. Anyway - thats a whole nuther subject.
Back to "ghosts"
My daughter lives in a tiny, little house, maybe 60 or so years old. She has some dude who looks to be a 50's greezer making occasional appearances. I wouldn't believe it, except there are numerous witnesses.
She is also troubled by a re-occurring dream, where she and this dude are in an old car - with a bench seat. She says they are driving down some road - somewhat like Hot Rod Haven - but she isn't sure what road it is. Anyway - it is narrow and winding with tall tress all along both sides, and she says she can feel herself slid across the seat as they take the curves. She says he tells her his name, but she is never able to remember it. She thinks if she could remember it, she might stop having the dream.
Now - heres the creepy part. She talks in her sleep. So, one day, as she was napping and gabbering, one of her friends put a micro recorder by her head - thinking to prove to her, she did indeed talk in her sleep.
When he played it back - you could hear a voice whispering - sounded just like whispering - tho you can't tell what it is saying. Then my daughter responds: I can smell your fires burning.
Don't ask me what it means - I have no clue! But it is creepy.
I have personally seen and heard many a strange thing - but never an actual "person" ghost.
